


Protector

by mako_lies (wingeddserpent)



Series: The Ruin [9]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pre-Canon, Promptio Weekend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-08
Updated: 2018-01-08
Packaged: 2019-03-02 00:20:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13306422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wingeddserpent/pseuds/mako_lies
Summary: Gladio's face gets scarred, and Prompto invites himself over. Also, there's a plant.





	Protector

**Author's Note:**

> Written for promptioweekend's "free day".
> 
> Notes: this work contains light mentions of body/weight issues, and a reference to a potential eating disorder.

“Now, you’re certain that there’s nothing they can do about your face, darling?” His mother’s voice is sharp with concern. “They cannot simply apply potion to it? What good is magick if it cannot heal so simple a wound?”

“It’s fine, Mom.” He’s had this same conversation ten times this week already. Usually about his feelings, including once with the therapist dad made him go see. Seriously.

Trust Mom to focus in on the face thing. Then, appearance has always been strong currency in Altissia. Or so he hears, anyway.

Gladio loves his mom—she’s boss—but she just _does not_ get it. The Shield thing. The _Amicitia_ thing. Hell, most of the time she doesn’t even understand the Insomnian thing, what with being Altissian and all.

And Gladio gets it. He does. She wanted to be married off about as much as he’d want to go live a pretty, fussy life in occupied Altissia. But it means that she doesn’t understand, and she doesn’t always make much of an effort to; she ’s too busy politicking in Altissia. Normally he’s okay with that. 

Sure, his face got roughed up, but it means that Noct’s safe. It means that Gladio has to train harder, so he can protect Noct better.

Mom’s the only one in the family who’d put his safety over Noct’s, and it’s exhausting. He can usually handle her perspective just fine, but not now.

“Do you need me in Insomnia?” she asks, and he can hear her take a long, long drag of her cigarette. 

He must sound dire for her to offer. The last time she had come—outside of holidays or for work—was when Dad got pneumonia two years ago. Only thing she hates more than visiting Insomnia is anything that dares hurt her family. For her to offer—he swallows his sudden, sharp gratitude. It clogs up his throat when he says, “Thanks, Mom. But I’m really fine. What kind of Shield would I be if I could’t beat off one crazy drunk?”

“You’re not merely a Shield, Gladiolus,” her voice is sharp, commanding, that tone that can cow even Cor. She pulls on her cigarette again.

Gladio’s in no mood to be lectured about his duty by someone who doesn’t understand it. “Love you, Mom. Talk to you later.” He disconnects.

Oh, he’ll be hearing about this for months, probably, but he can’t deal with any more today. He buries himself in blankets and forces himself to sleep.

 

The doorbell rouses him a couple hours later. His damn face aches from his nap—hell, if there was any time time to follow Iggy’s advice and stop sleeping on his face, now would be it. He can’t think who’d be coming over, but he shrugs into his sweatshirt and goes to open the door.

“Heyas!” Prompto grins up at him. “I tried texting you, probably like fifty times—sorry—but you didn’t answer so… Surprise!”

His gaze skitters off Gladio’s face like he’s nervous. Gladio knows what he’s seeing, because he’d stared at himself in the mirror for what felt like hours today. Some clean gauze that stretches the length of his face. Covered eye. Lucky he hadn’t gotten any glass from the bottle in his eyes. Docs had been amazed.

Prompto lingers in the doorway and never quite looks at Gladio. He fiddles with his backpack, toying with the zippers, instead. Can’t blame him. Two days since the fight, and he hasn’t responded to one of Prompto’s avalanche of texts. Some boyfriend he is.

“Thought you had work today.” He beckons Prompto in.

Prompto opens his mouth to stare at the house, shocked into rare silence. It’s only the second time he’s been here, after all, and it’s a bit different from the tiny house Prompto lives in. Hell, it’s different from Noct’s sleek and modern apartment. Being old money and living in the same but often renovated house for generations will do that. But even though Prompto’s examining a vase that’s been in the family since the time of the Conqueror, and not looking at Gladio at all, Gladio can’t help but be hyper-aware of his face. His skin prickles like shiny, healing skin.

Being around Prompto usually makes Gladio notice his own body, the delicious shiver that goes up his spine when Prompto looks at him just right. The awareness is usually powerful. Sensual. But now he just feels raw and exposed, and not in the sexy way his books spend pages describing.

“Um. It’s Wednesday, so I have the day off?” Prompto points out, still avoiding eye contact. Even though it’s a pretty normal Prompto thing—it still makes heat burn in Gladio’s cheeks. Hell, this sucks. Is it gonna be like this every time people look at him? Or just his cute boyfriend?

Prompto’s had Wednesdays off since he started the job. Gladio’s not normally this forgetful. “Been to check on Noct?”

Prompto lingers in the the foyer like a vampire that’s got in on a technicality. (Maybe he _has_ been reading too many supernatural romances , shit.) “Yeah. Yesterday? Day before? He’s okay. Still locked up in the Citadel while the buzz dies down. Even Iggy couldn’t keep it out of the news…”

The real reason Gladio’d turned off his phone before he’d finally had to call his mother. Sure, he’d wanted Noct to start making headlines and showing the kingdom exactly how what kind of man he was gonna be someday, but this wasn’t how he’d wanted it to go. He certainly hadn’t wanted to be in the news himself, dripping blood and standing menacing over some prostrate drunk.

He leads them into the parlor. Prompto blinks at the tasteful Altissian furniture and the paintings of nude women and fruit bowls. Honestly, Gladio doesn’t really get them, either. His mom’s got interesting taste, and his dad doesn’t give a fuck about art. So, mom chose the decor, even though she’s the longest she’s ever lived here was for two years when Gladio was born, and then another two with Iris. 

He settles comfortably on one of the beige lounge sofas, and isn’t surprised at all when Prompto stays standing. “So what’s up?”

“Came to check on you, that’s what.” Prompto sets his jaw, stubborn. They’re about to be in for a hellova a ride, Gladio can feel it. Exhaustion tugs at him and he seriously considers going back up and crawling under the blankets again.

If he’s come hankering for a fight, he’s gonna be sorely disappointed. “I’m—“

“I’ll scream if you say fine.”

“Amazing. Fantastic. Terrific. Fabulous. Excellent. Perfect. Happy now?”

Prompto’s face screws up like he’s a cat eating ice cream. Then he laughs, finally, some of that awkward, anxious tension bleeding out of him. “I had that coming. Okay! Different question, tough guy! Did the docs say if it was gonna scar?”

Naturally that’s what he wants to talk about. Like Mom. Gladio sighs a long, long sigh that totally empties him out. Breathe. Just breathe. Prompto’s a civilian, too, even if he loves Noct like crazy.  “Yeah. Dad says it’s gonna be dashing, so I’ve got that going for me. Guess you’ll have to be the judge of that, being my boyfriend and all.”

It’s dumb. He’s dumb. Worrying about his _face_ of all things, but he barely resists the urge to  look down. To hide from Prompto. The gash itches beneath the bandage, but it’s probably just because he’s thinking about it.

He’d never had to worry about it before. You never went for the face in a spar.

Noctis could have _died_ if Gladio’d been any slower. It wasn’t some training exercise where his dad reminded him to be quicker on the draw, and they reset from the top. Gladio’d let the guy too close, and now he’s all caught up in vanity instead of what really matters—Noct. Some Amicitia he’s turning out to be. Maybe he _should_ relocate to Altissia if he’s gonna get like this every fight. Seriously pathetic. Dad’d been to War by time he was Gladio’s age, and here he is moaning about  one drunk Outlander who was hurt and angry about the recent concessions. His first real fight, and he’d nearly screwed it up. He probably deserved the scar.

Like he can follow the downward trajectory of Gladio’s thinking, Prompto’s mouth pinches. Blue eyes flash. He finally meets Gladio’s eyes. “Your dad said that? That’s pretty shitty, dude.”

How is it that Prompto always chooses the worst fucking times to climb up on his soap box? Like during that Niff bomb threat last year—he’d gone nose-to-nose with the _Marshall_ about people going through Noct’s  apartment. _“You can’t just treat his stuff like it’s garbage! He’s a person, y’know? You can’t_ _go through his life without some sensitivity!”_ Noct had stood behind Prompto, starstruck, mouth open in surprise. 

“Don’t start on my dad,” Gladio warns, not unkindly.

Prompto’s protective and fierce as hell. A bit skittish, but he’s working on it. Prompto’s hands flutter like upset butterflies. “I just—okay. How do _you_ feel about it? Do you think it’s dashing? Is it no biggie? Is it a bad reminder of some dude bottling you? ‘Cuz people can say whatever they want, but it’s your face.”

“It is what it is. ‘M’not happy about it, but Noct’s safe. So if people wanna think of it as a badge of honor or whatever, fine by me.” Mostly, he wants people to stop talking about it.

No way he’s ever going to forget his first real fight now. Just a mirror away. Finally, Prompto sits down next to him. The pads of his fingers ghost over the sharp jut of Gladio’s wrist bone. He’s always touching Gladio’s wrists—some fascination that Gladio doesn’t get at all, but hey, whatever works for Prompto works for him. (Gladio’d only made the mistake of reciprocating the gesture once. Sent Prompto jolting back like he’d been struck and it had made Gladio sick, stomach twisting with anxiety for days. Never asked. Never repeated it. He’ll wait Prompto out—when (if) he’s ready to talk, Gladio’ll be here.)

“Okay… But you’re allowed to have feelings about it, you know. You don’t have to do the machismo thing…” Prompto laces fingers with Gladio, gentling his words.

Gladio’s really _not_ , but whatever. There are way more important things to worry about than a scar. He runs his thumb over Prompto’s knuckles. “Look,” Prompto blows out a breath. “I have…” His free hand drifts down to the hem of his shirt and he plays with it, considering. “I have a—I have an ‘it’s complicated’ relationship with my body.”

It’s not that hard to figure out. Is always busy when they want to go swimming. The mysterious wristband. Potentially his relationship with food? Iggy has suspicions, but Gladio’s gonna hold off until he has more reason to be concerned. Prompto continues, “I used to be pretty heavy. But I worked hard and lost a lot of weight. And I’m—mostly I’m proud of that, I guess, but I still don’t always… feel good about myself? I don’t know how to explain. But my mom always tells me to be proud and blah blah, and it doesn’t really—help? Just makes me feel bad because I don’t feel the way she says I should.”

He’s not entirely sure how Prompto wants him to respond. It’s a lot to follow, and he keeps getting stalled on the _trust_ Prompto’s  giving. His whole body lights up with pleasure and that’s really not how he should be reacting. Gotta get it together. “You’re beautiful…” Gladio murmurs, and then kicks himself. Prompto opens up and all Gladio can think is that he’s beautiful? Stupid, stupid, stupid. He needed to be comforting and understanding, and instead he’s just babbling about how wonderful he is.

Prompto splutters a bit, skin red as that spicy, spicy curry he loves. “I’m trying to make a point! I mean, thanks! Back at you, duh, but listen!”

Gladio laughs, but leans back to listen.

“Anyway, what I was saying, before I was so _rudely_ interrupted, is that… I kinda started feeling better about it? When I let it be complicated and accepted my feelings , I felt way better. So I’m just saying… it’s not about how I feel, Gladio. It’s not about Noct or your Dad or anyone. No one should tell you how to feel about it.”

It’s cute. Prompto always tries to protect him. Gladio doesn’t get that a lot, and he wouldn’t really want it much to be honest, but it’s sweet coming from Prompto. “Thanks, Prompto,” he says, and means it, even if it’s more because Prompto felt comfortable sharing than anything else.

Sure, the scar is gonna stick with him forever but—he could’ve killed that guy, easy. Easy as breathing. That’s what he’s been built for, after all. And he’s not sure how to deal with it. Or talk about it. He’s going to be Shield. There will come a day he’ll have to kill for Noct. There’ll come a day, too, when he’ll have to die for Noct. And that’s just how it is. No talking or feeling will change that. He squeezes Prompto’s hand. “Dunno that I wanna talk about it more. Sorry. I appreciate what you’re trying to do, though. So yeah. Thanks.”

Prompto flushes, a high-pitched self-conscious laugh escaping him. He futzes with his backpack again. “Should I… do you want me to go?”

Gladio holds on tight. “Why? Do you need to?”

“Dude, I kinda invited myself to your house and then talked your ear off. Do you want me to stay?”

“‘Course I do. Come upstairs. We can play King’s Knight or something. Iris won’t be home for awhile.”

 

Prompto relaxes a bit once they reach Gladio’s room. Probably because the decor is way more Gladio, way less ‘noble house that stretches back to the founding of Lucis.’ “If you wanna read…” Prompto grins at the stacks and stacks of books on the bedside table as he drops his backpack on the floor. “I can play King’s Knight while you read. Doesn’t bother me.”

“Might be for the best. My depth perception’s pretty shit right now.” He gestures up at the bandage.

Gladio settles on the bed, and grins, waiting, and Prompto finally curls up against Gladio. Sharing space. Sharing heat. This is easier than talking, although he’s not sure Prompto’d agree. Prompto lives for physical affection, but usually has to be the one to initiate it.

He flips open his book while Prompto powers up his game, and it’s good. Easy. They don’t get a lot of quiet moments like this, between Gladio’s Crownsguard duties and Prompto’s job and Noctis and everything, but Gladio could see himself getting used to this.“Oh, hey,” Prompto nudges him, still tucked in small against Gladio’s side. “I kinda got you something,” he singsongs.

“You got me something.”

Prompto slips off the bed and then pulls a large black plastic bag out of his backpack. He hands it to Gladio, beaming. “Careful. I think it’s fragile.”

“You think?”

“Just open it, c’mon,” Prompto whines, but he’s still smiling.

Inside the bag is—a plant. A round succulent with purple-green leaves. Likely from Leide. He sniffs it to see if it’s real. It is. “A plant? You got me a plant?” The words come out softly.

Prompto’s done some weird shit before, but he’s never showed up at Gladio’s house to give him a plant before. It’s not even his birthday. Is it just because of the fight? He looks at Prompto, trying to not come across as too surprised. Prompto grins, but ducks his head a bit. “You like nature… So I bought you a plant. The guy at the store said it was easy to take care of? I wanted to get you flowers, but I wasn’t sure if you would have time?”

Who does he think maintains the Amicitia gardens? Well, usually it’s the gardener, who gets paid to maintain the gardens, but Gladio helps when he has time. He knows perfectly well how to take care of most kinds of flowers native to Lucis. “I can’t believe you bought me a plant. You’re a weirdo sometimes, you know that?” he laughs, running his fingers over the sturdy little pot. “It’s cute. Thanks. But what’s the occasion?”

“Uh… Thought you might be down after what happened? You’re my boyfriend and you’re cute? We’ve been dating for four months, two weeks, and three days? I dunno. You’re great and you should have a plant?”

Gladio’s face heats. He gently sets the succulent aside, and then pulls his absolutely crazy, perfect boyfriend closer. Kisses him on the cheek. “You’re great, and thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” Prompto pauses, jaw setting again, and Gladio’s just stealing himself for another protective lecture when Prompto leans forward and _plants_ oneright on his lips, but he’s  so friggin’ speedy, he’s pulled back before Gladio can grab him. Reel him in. It’s fine, even though Gladio has to grip the sheets to keep from reaching out.

Patience. Patience. Gotta be patient. Prompto smiles at him, like he knows exactly what he’s doing. Astrals, if he’s just teasing Gladio for the shits and giggles… “I should probably head home. Gotta get some pictures prepped for work tomorrow. Helping design the new menu and stuff. But… Text me? Doesn’t have to be about how you’re feeling or anything… Even just updates about the shenanigans in your books would be good.”

“I can do that.”

Taking a risk, Gladio pulls Prompto back in and kisses the corner of his mouth once before letting go. “Thanks for today, Prompto.” It’d been a total wash before Prompto showed up.

“Anytime, big guy.” Prompto’s pink from the kiss. “You just gotta let me know when you’re having a bad time, yeah?”

“Back at you,” he says, because they’re both probably equally bad about that.

For all Prompto moonlights as a talker, he only likes to talk about other people’s problems. Still, they make it work. He walks Prompto to the door, because his mom taught him basic manners okay, and grins. “Still on for Saturday? Should be fully recovered by then. We could go for a run.”

“Yeah. Maybe get lunch too?”

“‘Course. See you then.” He kisses Prompto on the cheek again, and then watches him leave. What is it they say, hate to see you go, love to watch you leave?

Yeah.


End file.
